


Simulating Human Contact

by virmillion



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: A bunch of dorks, Fluff, Insomnia, M/M, all of my projecting is about a tired virgil, because honestly me too, but don't worry that's exactly how i talk so it's still accurate, medication mention, virgil's sleepy talking might sound indecipherable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-19 21:40:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16542797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virmillion/pseuds/virmillion
Summary: fluff and projecting onto analogical because i am incredibly tired





	Simulating Human Contact

Virgil curled up tighter under his constellation-covered blanket, forcing his mind to linger on how the fuzz dragged over his skin, caught on the fabric of his pants, muted his ears to the white noise of the radio against the rain. He flipped the pillow beneath his head and burrowed his nose into the sheets, breathing in the smell of someone who'd been there so many times before. As the radio sputtered helplessly, its dial caught between two stations, he rolled onto his side, tucking the blanket under himself. If he squeezed his eyes shut tight enough, he might almost be able to imagine arms holding him there. Almost, but not quite.  
Making a grab for the stuffed cat that kept watch over his bed, Virgil cursed his melatonin medication for failing to kick in. With work tomorrow—today, technically—and the dying light of his phone proclaiming the ripe hour of two in the morning, this was not ideal. Add onto that the itch in that one spot on his back that he couldn't reach without being a contortionist, and Virgil was just about fed up with this whole 'healthy sleep regimen' situation.  
At this point, he could only count down the days until Christmas, when he would get a weighted blanket, and sleep might be a little more forgiving—yeah, he knew his gifts, Roman was utter crap at keeping secrets. Texts asking where to put blankets? Patton trying to be conspiratorial in saying 'it's heavy' about his present? It wasn't that hard to connect the dots. The anticipation of not having the thing when he needed it most only compounded his agitation.  
"Fine. I give. Whatever, I don't even care," Virgil lied to himself. He rolled himself off the bed and onto the floor, landing face first and letting the distant scent of cat litter flood his senses—his eyes almost burned, but that's an exaggeration he used to hide how much he actually cared for the dang cat. After carefully placing his stuffed cat in a comfortable position on the bed—resting against the pillow, blanket tucked up to her chin—he fumbled around for his phone charger, unplugging it and squinting as the screen lit up the room.  
Tugging on the nearest sweatshirt he could find—probably best not to wander the house in just boxers—Virgil stumbled for the door, biting back a yawn on his oversized sleeve. Small tears eeked their way out from the corners of his eyes as he blinked, waiting for his vision to adjust to the well-lit house. Could it be called well-lit if every light was on considerably past midnight? Probably. It counted. He thought. Maybe. Full disclosure, Virgil was very tired.  
He trailed his finger behind him along the banister as he descended the stairs, looking like Cinderella at the ball—if her fairy godmother had a twisted sense of couture, and was running late on that whole ‘midnight back to normal’ deal. There wasn't even a contract, which, in Virgil's professional opinion, was an utter outrage.  
Maybe Logan was rubbing off on him a bit.  
“Hey, I didn't know you were still up,” Logan called from his seat at the kitchen table. He pressed his glasses up his nose and folded down his laptop screen, patting his knees as Virgil took his sweet time getting there.  
“Yeah, ’t’s cause ’m not. This is a dream. You’re dreaming. Wake up and go to sleep in a bed.” Virgil slumped in the chair beside Logan’s, winding as it groaned against the hardwood floor. “M’head hurts. Turn off your light box.”  
“I haven't finished grading the papers, and I'm always punctual about getting grades back within the first—”  
“Last class of the day. Do it at lunch. Come to bed. ’m tired.” Virgil let his head thunk against the table, staring at the worn carpet and playing with the loose threads between his toes. With a yawn that managed to pass his weakening defenses, he flung out a wobbly arm to rest on Logan’s wrist. “Sleepy time train pulling into exhaustion station. Ding dong bing bong.”  
“None of that made any sense,” Logan said with a weak smile, covering Virgil's hand with his own. “Have you tried that whole pressure thing with the blankets and the body pillows? Tuck yourself in, simulate human contact sort of thing? That worked wonders for you when you first tried it.”  
“Know better now. Too smart for your thinky feely mind games.” Virgil yawned, longer and louder, not fighting as his eyes drifted shut. “No more work. Come bed sleep time.” Mustering all of his dwindling strength, he lifted his heavy head from the table and blinked sleepily at Logan. “Please?”  
Logan pulled his lower lip between his teeth, looking back at his laptop. An essay highlighted in every shade of yellow blinked back, nowhere near finished. “How long have you been trying?”  
“Coupl’ hours. Help.” Virgil lowered his head—more gently this time—to rest his cheek on the cool surface. He let himself melt against it, crushing his ear in search of the ever elusive sleep. “Finish tomorrow.”  
“It is tomorrow, technically,” Logan offered. He flipped up his screen to finish off a few last notes before removing his glasses with a flourish. “There, the glasses are off, my sight is officially impaired, and as such, I am defenseless if anyone should force me to a bedroom.”  
“Sleep time,” Virgil whispered in a halfhearted attempt at enthusiasm, clutching Logan’s wrist and dragging his feet toward the stairs.  
“Maybe wait until you're horizontal to sleep,” Logan suggested, wrapping his arm around Virgil's back. “Just trust me on this one.”  
“Head hurts. Exhaustion land,” Virgil mumbled, wincing as an ache shot through his temples. “It's cause you always be on that phone,” he continued, pitching his voice up in a spitting imitation of his mother.  
“She isn't wrong,” Logan said. Regardless, he found himself standing before their shared bed, uncertain as to where the stuffed cat should be moved. “What's today?”  
“Wednesday night, Thursday morning. She has to wake up over here,” Virgil murmured, moving the cat to the right side of the bed—atop a throne of pillow pets. “There. Now sleepy time.”  
Logan reached over to flick off the lights before stretching himself out on the mattress, letting Virgil work out how best to attack the blanket situation. The latter pulled back two to the foot of the bed, rolled three against the side of it, pushed one up for the stuffed cat, and lifted the last to crawl under it himself. Kicking at it with his feet, Virgil found himself satisfied as it came to settle around the two of them like a shroud of stars.  
With a light sigh through his nose, Logan pulled the blanket up higher and wrapped his arm around Virgil’s back, feeling hoodie sleeves clutch his torso like a lifeline. “I suppose this would be better than a simulation,” he admitted, pulling Virgil closer. Virgil didn't hear, already asleep and snoring gently against Logan’s shoulder. Logan tilted his head to rest contentedly on Virgil’s mess of slightly damp hair, closing his eyes and surrendering to sleep.  
Yeah. Definitely better than a simulation.


End file.
